


The Big Wahoonie

by SandyQuinn



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyQuinn/pseuds/SandyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt for Avengers/Discworld crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Wahoonie

  
It was raining.   
  
Usually Vimes liked the rain. Rain was the watchman’s best friend, sometimes. People committed less crimes when there was a chance they could get wet. But this rain…   
  
The lighting struck, in the distance, and the thunder roared immediately afterwards. The bloody thing was right above the city!   
  
He had bigger problems of course - literally. He turned his attention back to Captain Carrot and the… stranger. It was like seeing double, an experience he could still recall from years past looking at the world through the bottom of the bottle, and it was not pleasant. Two tall, imposing figures with barrel-chests and square jaws, almost god-like proportions, and, most importantly, the earnest, honest look of men who could quote the book of law by memory. Now if only the stranger wasn’t wearing such a ridiculous getup…

“What was your name again?” he asked, just to get a word in. Getting the statement from the man had, truthfully, turned into an animated discussion between Carrot and the stranger already a while back. The man turned to him, and saluted.

“Captain Steve Rogers, sir. Also known as Captain America.”

Vimes tried to pick his next words carefully, and then gave up. “Why are you wearing - wearing -  _that_ , captain?” He couldn’t decide between the big whopping star, the mask or the… tights. They were all equally stupid.   
  
“It’s a symbol and a disguise, sir,” Carrot answered in Captain America’s place, earnestly. “In his world, he started off as a sort of weaponized moral-booster during a war era and gradually evolved into a crimefighter where the symbolic identity mattered more than his real one. Interesting fact, his shield is actually capable of enduring almost anything.” He glanced at Captain. “Am I missing something?”   
  
“Well, I did spend fifty years trapped in ice,” Captain said, sort of resignedly.  

Vimes dearly wished he was still drinking. “All right,” he said instead. “Fair enough. But what can you tell us about your green little-  _big_  friend?”

 

*   
  
The Shades were quiet. The Shades, if it had been possible, would have uprooted itself and moved to a safer part of the town. A monster was prowling the narrow, dark streets, occasionally snarling in frustration when its shoulder caught on something, and the Shades honestly wished it was somewhere else .   
  
The Hulk was confused. The Hulk was in a strange place, people had shot arrows at it, big men made out of stone had tried to stop it, and on top of the whole thing, the smell was making it really  _really_  cranky. 

A little clacking sound caught the Hulk’s attention as it was attempting to cover its nose with one enormous hand, and it turned around. The alley was completely empty, apart from a wooden chest sitting alone in the midst of the grime.   
  
The Hulk breathed in through its mouth and then let out a defiant, frustrated roar into the silence.

The wooden chest rose slowly, dozens of small feet shuffling into a position. It opened just a tad, to reveal a mahogany tongue and some very white teeth. 

It yawned.

The Hulk recognized a challenge when it saw one.  

They both lunged at the same time. 

* 

“Luggage?” Rincewind called, sort of uselessly. If the damn thing wasn’t trying to trip him over, it probably wasn’t around to hear him.   
  
“I know you ate my shoes,” he called out, anyway. “I promise I’m not angry. I just want clean underwear -” he flung his wardrobe open.   
  
Natasha raised her eyebrow at him coolly. Suddenly Rincewind  _really_  needed clean underwear.   
  
“You’re not Luggage,” he managed, weakly.   
  
“I don’t even know who that is,” Natalie said, stepping out of the wardrobe gracefully. “Why are you wearing a dress?”   
  
“It’s a robe,” Rincewind said a little indignantly. “Why were  _you_  in my wardrobe, Miss?” 

She ignored his huffing and walked out to the window briskly. An unknown city opened before her, and that was troubling. She’d been basically  _everywhere_. 

“Where am I?” she asked, calmly, trying out her communicator. All she got was white noise. Even more troubling. 

“Ankh-Morpork - look, you didn’t see any shoes in there, did you?” Rincewind inquired shakily, trying to keep calm. It’s not like it was some kind of a monster, this time. It was an attractive young lady! That was good! Keep positive, Ponder had told him. He was really trying.   
  
Natasha flicked out a knife, elbowed Rincewind in the chest to pin him against the wardrobe and pressed the tip very gently against his artery.   
  
“And  _where_  -” she said, just as calmly as before ” -is Ankh-Morpork?”    
  
“Here! Around us!” Rincewind squaked. “On the Disc! What, what do you want to hear?”   
  
Natasha pulled back, pocketing her knife, frowning mildly. “I think I need a guide. Come with me.” She put her small, dainty hand on Rincewind’s shoulder, and suddenly he was unable to do anything but let himself be steered out of his room.   
  
“But I’m not wearing any shoes!” he wailed.

*   
  
CMOT Dibbler watched carefully. Over the course of his many, many years as an entrepreneur  he’d seen all sorts of reactions to his sausages. He’d witnessed crying, spitting, religious experiments, morbid fascination, and even an occasional positive review.

He’d never seen anyone wolf them down like that.

“Would you- er, would you like some ketchup?” he asked weakly. “Something to, er- mask the taste a bit?”   
  
“Your meat in bun is excellent, tradesman!” the man declared. He had bits of sausage on his beard. “There is no need to mask the taste with anything. Another!”   
  
Dibbler hurried to prepare another hot dog before his luck would run out, glancing at the hammer hanging from the man’s belt. It was a very big hammer.   
  
“So are you a carpenter or something, sir?”     
  
The man drew himself to his full height (which was impressive indeed) and bellowed, the thunder, disturbingly enough, punctuating his words. “I am Thor, the prince and the heir of Asgard, thrown into this mysterious land by forces unknown!” He paused, and then said, in less ceremonial tones. “Have you perhaps seen my brother? I am looking for him.”   
  
“What’s he look like?” Dibbler asked carefully.   
  
“Very angry,” Thor said solemnly, and then ate another hot dog.    
  
*  
  
“Knock knock,” Tony said, instead of knocking, peeking into the office. The man sitting by his desk lifted his head, giving Tony a mildly curious look.   
  
“Can I help you?”   
  
Tony, still in his Iron Man suit sans the mask, strolled inside as casually as one could in a big whopping metal suit.   
  
“Funny thing, just before,” he said casually. “I’m out there in a weird city, no big deal, I’ve woken up in worse places, and I stop a mugging. The guy says he’s  _allowed_  to steal from people because he’s in some guild. Says he always leaves a receipt.” He paused. “Says it was all Lord Vetinari’s idea.”   
  
Vetinari put down his quill, very carefully, and pressed the tips of his fingers together.   
  
“That is correct. May I ask your name, Mister…?”   
  
“Oh, Tony Stark,” Tony waved his hand. “Sorry. I’m used to people knowing who I am.”  

“I’m certain you are,” Vetinari remarked dryly. “And how may I help you, Mister Stark?”   
  
“I was thinking about hearing how you justify unleashing  _legalized_  crime on to the city, Mister Vetinari,” Tony flashed a smile. It had a lot of teeth in it. Pepper usually broke out the aspirin when Tony smiled like that. 

“Am I to assume you are indignant, or…” Vetinari paused. “Curious?”   
  
“Call it a little bit of both,” Tony said, pulling up a chair. “But don’t call your guards. They’re all napping.”   
  
Drumknott appeared in the doorway behind Tony, giving Vetinari a questioning look with just a hint of sharp edge. Vetinari waved him away with a casual gesture of his hand.   
  
“Well,” he said, calmly. “Where do I begin…?”    
  
*   
  
Clint was high up. Very high up. The people down in the city looked like ants from his perspective. 

He kinda liked it. 

True, the stairs in the tower seemed to have crumbled, leaving him alone with some gargoyles, a lone statue of a robed fat man and a murder of crows, that, Clint had learned, could talk, but there was a nice breeze and it had finally stopped raining. Besides, Natasha would find him. She always did. 

“Hey miffter,” the crow said, landing on his shoulder. “You know poker?”   
  
“The game?” Clint asked. “Yeah, I do.”   
  
Another crow landed on his shoulder, dropping a pack of cards on his feet. “That gargoyle over there doesn’t.”   
  
Clint considered for a moment, and then picked up the cards.   
  
“I’ll deal.”  


End file.
